Light Your World
by sunstarunicorn
Summary: As winter rolls around again, Alanna starts a quill-pal relationship with Alysie, the adopted werewolf cub her brother saved. She soon finds out that Alysie's father has just lost his tech-side job, leaving the family in dire straits during the coldest time of the year. Can two young Wild Mages give Alysie's family a Christmas to remember? A Magical Flashpoint Side Story


Author note: This story is part of the Magical Flashpoint Side Story series. It follows "Fallen Angel" and comes before "Contingency Plan".

Although all original characters belong to me, I do not own _Flashpoint_, _Harry Potter_, _Narnia_, or _Merlin_. Nor do I own Newsong's 'Light Your World'.

* * *

Alanna Calvin huffed to herself as she opened the mail box for the apartment she shared with her brother and uncle. Trust Lance to stick _her_ with the job of going down five flights of stairs with the elevator out! Wimp, cop out – _jerk_. Fuming, the girl yanked out the stack of mail, conveniently forgetting that _she'd_ stuck her brother with the exact same chore the past three weeks running, always using the excuse that she needed to work on their joint project for Uncle Wordy.

A card-sized letter slid off the top of the stack, earning an irritated hiss and quick midair snap. Grumbling, Alanna turned around and headed back up the stairs, plotting ways to make her brother _pay_ with each flight.

Once back in the apartment, Alanna slammed the mail down, her eyes narrowing as the top letter slipped off again. About to send the whole stack flying – leaving it, of course, for her _brother_ to clean up – the redhead paused at the sight of _her_ name on the letter. Curiosity niggled, pushing aside her irritation.

Thoughtful, the redhead's fingers found the letter opener, short, precise movements opening the mystery card. Two items tumbled free – a rough, handmade card and a folded sheet of lined notebook paper. Picking up the card, Alanna opened it, her eyes falling on the shaky writing of a young child.

Delight surged. Alysie had written her back!

_Two doors down, one rocking chair is rocking  
She sits there all alone, her husband dead and gone  
The best years of her life they spent together  
He was always strong, but now she's on her own  
And the telephone never rings  
No one laughs, no one sings  
It's quiet there, does anyone care?_

Alanna ran her fingers through her hair as she read through the letter, her grip tightening with each sentence. Alysie was still learning how to write and spell, but for all that, the blocky letters were fairly easy to read. The young werewolf insisted her family was doing fine – although it was getting rather cold inside her home.

The redhead glanced over at the card Alysie had made out of a sheet of rough, thick green-colored paper she'd clearly scavenged from another child's Christmas project. A Christmas tree had been drawn on the cover, somewhat lopsided, but still bright and cheery in red, yellow, and blue crayon. Inside, Alysie had written a shaky 'Merry Christmas' and drawn a stick figure of herself underneath, smiling. Her family had signed below, offering their own Christmas wishes.

Hence the letter. A letter that contained a little girl's view of her parents' worried, hushed discussions, the lack of Christmas cheer, and the fact that her father was suddenly home during the day when he'd always gone to work before. And, of course, the equally sudden lack of heating.

_Light your world  
Let the love of God shine through  
In the little things you do  
Light your world  
And though your light may be  
Reaching only two or three  
Light your world_

"Lance?"

The brunet sighed, glancing up from his schoolwork. Couldn't Alanna let it rest, just this _once_? Didn't she _know_ his teacher was going to _kill_ him if he didn't get these science problems done? Huffing, the teen pushed back his hair – he usually got the mail, _just_ to avoid Alanna's high handed temper tantrums, but today, he _needed_ all the time he could _get_. The Damocles Sword of Unfinished Homework was dangling and about to drop, but heaven _forbid_ Alanna walk up and down _five_ flights of stairs for the _mail_.

"Yeah, sis, what is it?"

"Take a look at this." So saying, Alanna dropped a sheet of notebook paper on top of his open textbook.

Sighing again – he _knew_ Alanna, if he told her he'd look at it _later_, she'd make him _pay_ – the teen scooped up the paper and skimmed the letter. Then he paused and read it again. "Dang."

"Yeah," Alanna agreed softly.

"So her dad lost his job right before Christmas…"

"And they were already struggling," Alanna chipped in. "I mean, you remember what Uncle Greg said about their house?"

Solemn blue met violet. " 'Lanna, they're _werewolves_. It's _gotta_ be cold if _she's_ feeling it."

"No presents either." A mournful note rang behind the sentence.

Lance bit his lip over his next comment – a question about what Alanna expected _him_ to do. He already _knew_ what she expected _him_ to do. Fix it.

"We can show it to Uncle Greg, sis, and see what he says," Lance finally remarked, handing her the letter back. "Now _get_! I wasn't kidding about being _slammed_ today."

_A knocking at her door breaks the silence  
She looks out to see a little boy from down the street  
She cracks the door, surprised that he came over  
Flowers in his hand like a little gentleman  
He said, "I picked these just for you  
I hope you like the color blue  
Could I stay a while, I love to see you smile"_

Greg wasn't surprised when Lance reappeared a few minutes after he'd told his _nipotes_ that he'd see what he could do about Alysie's family's situation. The teenager fidgeted, prompting a soft, "Yes, Lance?"

The brunet twisted his hands together. "Sometimes we can't help," he whispered.

Parker sighed. "You're right about that, _mio nipote_," he agreed ruefully. "Why do you think that now?" Honest curiosity rang; surely they could at least help Alysie's father find a new job.

Lance didn't respond directly. "What are you planning?"

"The goblins?" Greg ventured, more to see what his nephew thought.

He was caught off guard when Lance shook his head. "Can't go to them for _everything_, Uncle Greg."

"And?"

The boy bit his lip. "Not even the goblins can change reality," he murmured. "A working werewolf needs at least three days off per month. Even if they use Wolfsbane, the full moon does a number on them."

Greg winced. "That explains what happened to his job."

Lance nodded. "And the wizarding world doesn't have anti-discrimination laws like the tech world does, Uncle Greg."

True. Even worse, Greg realized, the tech world's anti-discrimination laws didn't take _werewolves_ into account. Why have a law prohibiting discriminating against a mythical disease?

_Light your world  
Let the love of God shine through  
In the little things you do  
Light your world  
And though your light may be  
Reaching only two or three  
Light your world_

"Lorne Wilkes speaking."

Greg smiled, if only to himself. Wilkes sounded much better, more confident and with the assurance of a man who knew his business. "Mr. Wilkes? Greg Parker, not sure if you…"

"Sergeant Parker, what can I do for you?" Muted pleasure rang – not something Greg would have expected from a man his team had once arrested. A man he himself had interrogated, needing Wilkes' information to save the man's friend from suicide.

"Well," Greg hedged a bit. "How's the job going for you, Mr. Wilkes?"

"Please, Sergeant, call me Lorne," Wilkes requested. "Especially since I _owe_ you and your team this job."

"No, you don't," Greg replied firmly. "We might've helped you get your foot in the door, but _you_ kept it there."

Lorne chuckled. "We all did," he remarked wistfully. "And it's going well, Sergeant, very well. I'm hoping for a promotion soon."

Greg's ears pricked. "A promotion? Congratulations, Lorne."

"Well, I haven't gotten it yet, so hold the applause."

Restraining a snicker at the unexpected jab of humor, Greg agreed, "Copy that."

"Now, please, Sergeant, what can I do for you? I'm sure you didn't call _just_ to check up on an old arrestee of yours."

"No, Lorne, I didn't." Greg considered, then sighed. "But it's…a bit complicated to do over the phone…"

"Over lunch then?" Lorne offered. "Unless you have to get back to work…"

Greg shook his head. "Not today, Lorne; we just worked a fifteen day shift, so next four days are off. Where did you have in mind?"

_It only takes a little time  
To show someone how much you care  
It only takes a little time  
To answer someone's biggest prayer_

"Three days off a month?" Lorne asked in surprise. "When would those be?"

Greg twitched. "It would vary, month to month," he admitted. "But…" He hesitated, then added, "But it would always be around the full moon."

Lorne nearly spat his coffee out. Sharp eyes lifted to Greg. "The full moon? What, is this guy a werewolf or something?"

Internally, the negotiator squirmed. This whole affair was dancing _right_ on the edge of the Official Secrets Act, something he hadn't quite grasped until he was too far in to back out. "Something like that," he agreed.

Lorne frowned, his gaze lowering to the tabletop and the fingers of his free hand drumming. "Any other issues that you know of?"

"None that I know of," Greg replied. "But all of this is secondhand, Lorne. My niece is their daughter's pen pal. She's quite young." _And adopted._

The businessman softened. "Nasty time of the year for your father to be out of work," he whispered.

"Yes, it is," Parker agreed quietly.

"Okay, Sergeant Parker. No promises, but I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you, Lorne." One corner of Greg's mouth tipped up. "Now how about you call me 'Greg'?"

Lorne chuckled. "Try again next year, Sergeant Parker."

"Copy that."

_Light your world  
Let the love of God shine through  
In the little things you do  
Light your world  
And though your light may be  
Reaching only two or three  
Light your world_

Somehow, Greg wasn't all that surprised when during his next shift, a rough-looking man turned up and asked to speak with him. Parker guided the other man into a small conference room and settled against the wall, waiting for him to speak.

Josiah, Alpha male of the North York pack, was still the same stocky, sturdily build man Parker had met before. Gray hair formed a thick beard and mustache, and grew in an impressive mane down from his head and around his face; dark blue eyes met Parker's, then dropped away in a submissive gesture.

"I do not need pity," he growled.

"I'm not giving you pity," Greg countered. "My niece has been corresponding with your daughter; she read between the lines."

A low, bass rumble from the werewolf; instinct built a responding growl in his own chest, one Josiah cringed away from.

"This is a chance, a foot in the door with an employer who _knows_ you need three days off around the full moon." The Sergeant let that hang, then drove his point home. "What you _do_ with that chance is _your_ decision."

"He knows I am a werewolf?"

"I didn't say that," Greg replied. "I said he knows you need three days off each month. What he _suspects_ is not my problem, nor yours. He's a smart man, he knows I didn't tell him outright for a reason."

Josiah glared. "You are playing a dangerous game."

"Maybe I am," Parker admitted. "But no one in this country should live in poverty if they've got the will to work for something better. Being a werewolf is something you can't help; it shouldn't destroy your life on _this_ side of the fence."

After a minute, Josiah grunted and turned away. "Thank you, then. For the chance."

Greg smiled. "If your family would like to come and join us for Christmas…"

"No." The response was curt, but the glance back was not. "My pack celebrates Christmas."

"Copy that. Just a heads up, though; _mio nipotes_ will probably send you guys a few things."

"For Christmas."

"Yes."

The werewolf's smile was evident in his reply. "My daughter will be pleased."

_Let the love of God shine through  
In the little things you do  
Light your world  
And though your light may be  
Reaching only two or three  
Light your world_

Greg swatted Spike and Lou away from the punch bowl. "Leave some for the rest of us," he scolded.

"But Sarge…" Spike whined.

"Shelley makes the best punch," Lou whimpered, casting his boss a positively _betrayed_ look.

The Sergeant was unmoved. "The rest of us would like to _enjoy_ that fact for _ourselves_. If there's still punch in an hour, you can have more. Go have some Christmas cookies instead."

Wordy chuckled as he ladled out another cup for himself. "You know we've got plenty in the 'fridge in my garage, Sarge."

"No, you don't."

Wordy froze.

"I chased _mio nipotes_ and Clark away, but they'd already gotten through half."

For a moment, the brunet gawped. "You mean, they're _ahead_ of Spike and Lou?"

A smirk broke through as Greg snagged his own cup of punch. "Yep."

The rest of the team swung around as Wordy howled laughter. Standing next to the hysterical constable, Greg maintained his straight face and shrugged, sipping at his drink.

_Let the love of God shine through  
In the little things you do  
Light your world  
And though your light may be  
Reaching only two or three  
Light your world!_

The latest Christmas photo joined its fellows on one of Greg's shelves. The Sergeant smiled – the wait had been worth it. The center of the picture was himself and his team, but Spike had dusted off his Photoshop skills for the rest. On the left side, the team kids had all grouped up for a shot of their own, grinning like loons at the camera, while on the right, Shelley and Sophie beamed from their back-to-back pose. The team wives, just as ready for action as the team. And wedged in at the bottom was Babycakes, adorned with Christmas lights, a Santa hat, and a length of garland wound around her 'arm'. Greg was just grateful Spike had gotten all the regalia off before they'd gotten a New Year's Day bomb call.

"Maybe he can come next year," Alanna offered, joining her uncle and snuggling into his chest.

"Maybe, _mia nipote_, maybe." Dean Parker. The only team kid _not_ in the Christmas picture.

"Merry Christmas, Uncle Greg."

"Alanna, it's the end of January."

Violet beamed up at him, though his niece was _finally_ starting to gain a bit of height, she'd never catch up to her brother. "You just got the Christmas photo."

Greg laughed. "Okay, _mia nipote_. Merry Christmas to you, too."

_~ Fin_

* * *

Author note: Merry Christmas from 2019, everyone!

As always, I hope all of you had a wonderful Christmas with family (both blood and chosen) and that you're ready for the New Year next week. As a matter of fact, I'll announce this again in the main storyline during my Friday (and/or next Tuesday) update, but New Year's will also have a Side-Story posting: "Crafting the Solution". For anyone wondering, yes, this is the story of how Wordy's mithril healing bracelet came to be.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!


End file.
